


Happy Holidays

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Crack, M/M, R/NC-17 - Brown Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 20:00:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12440556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: It's holiday time round CID, and boys will be boys. *coughs*





	1. With All the Trimmings

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).

  
Author's notes: Loz' fault. She says she doesn't want it, but deep down...>3 Red-markered by the incomparably twisted Andy. Slashy non-graphic overtones involving foodstuffs.  


* * *

"C'mon, Annie, give us a big wet one eh?" Chris hiccoughed and tried not to slosh the Party Seven on his trousers again as he nodded his head upward at the small green sprig hanging over the doorway, under which the unfortunate Annie now stood.

 

 

"When the berries are all plucked the privilege ceases, Chris." Gene growled, poking his head through the doorframe at just the right moment, and leaving Annie with a surprised "O" framed perfectly on her face as Gene's head seemingly sprouted from her right shoulder to all others in the room. 

 

"Div," Ray snorted under his breath as he took another pull from his flask.

 

 

The holidays had come to A Division, and with them a certain levity and good cheer and camaraderie that went above the usual.

 

 

"What did I tell you about that, Ray?" Gene nodded illustratively toward the flask in Ray's hand.

 

 

Ray's eyes widened in momentary surprise as he went to tuck it away in his jacket pocket once more.

 

 

"I said, 'Sharing is caring,'" Gene cleared his throat, then pulled his preferred lozenge of choice out of the pack in his pocket, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it.

 

 

"Sorry, Guv," Ray blushed slightly as he handed the flask Gene's way.

******

Delicious smells wafted out of the tiny disgrace of a kitchen in Sam's flat as he swore under his breath and threatened a myriad number of very impressively dastardly deeds toward his wayward stove and, not entirely logically, its mother and its future progeny. Gene was impressed; some of the things coming out of Dorothy's mouth, he hadn't really expected him to _know_ about, let alone speak of. He quickly repressed his smile as he leant into the kitchen from the doorway and announced his presence.

 

 

"So what have you burnt for us this evening, Sammy-boy?"

 

 

"OW!" Sam yelped in surprise as he smacked his head---hard---into the roof of the dilapidated and gaping maw that was the door to his oven. "I'm roasting a turkey, if you don't mind," he sulked, glaring and rubbing his head gingerly and pouting in what Gene was sure he couldn't know was a most distracting way.

 

 

"With all the trimmings?" 

 

 

"Of course." Sam's eyes flared, just for a moment, with something inscrutably Sammish and therefore, infuriating.

 

 

"So what's all the yelling about, then? Things not going quite to plan? Tell your Agony Aunt all about it, there's a girl..." Gene made a sort of odd cooing noise, like the idiotic ones adults often made over tiny, tiny babies. 

 

 

"Glad to see you've got the Christmas cheer well within you, Guv." Sam rolled his eyes and made as though to wave the fumes rolling off Gene's breath away from his nose. 

 

 

"I'll be glad to do you the same if you like, Sammy-boy. Sharing is caring, after all..." Gene grinned wickedly, brandishing the first thing his roaming hands found on the counter next to the doorway.

 

 

"You're going to attack me with...a turkey baster?" Sam said in disbelief, then broke into nothing short of an actual fit of giggles.

 

 

"Your problem, Tyler, is that whatever you've got crammed up your jacksie is either too far up or not far enough in. This," he paused here and worked the rubber knob on the baster in and out, sucking in air and pushing it out for full noisy effect before continuing," may just be the answer to all your troubles. Up you get..." Gene lunged menacingly, baster firmly in hand.

 

 

_It's a good thing I've got several packets of Bisto,_ was all Sam could think as he hastily tried to ward Gene away without burning himself on the oven behind him.


	2. Pole Position

  
Author's notes: For Loz, because while you can't always get what you want, if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need. XD Gone over with a fine-toothed comb (ouch!) by Andy. My, Porntoberfest is truly the most wonderful time of the year, as it is positively full of gifts that keep on giving! >3  


* * *

"Tongs beats baster, Gene." Sam laughed, brandishing a pair of alarmingly rust-coloured tongs in Gene's general direction as the two struggled against the oven. 

 

 

Gene paled. "You wouldn't."

 

 

"Are you really willing to take that risk?" Sam's voice went all low and gravelly, hitching slightly over the "really" in that puddlemaking way he sometimes had. Irritating, really. But so ridiculously sexy. Gene gulped. Hard.

 

 

The thing about them was, while there were vague suspicions that something possibly untoward was going on between the DCI and his DI, no-one would ever have dared to say anything about it. Why? The simple fact was, almost everyone was intimidated by Gene Hunt.

 

 

And who wouldn't be? He put on a fantastic show, after all, roughing up friends and foes alike in grand fashion. He was, however, fiercely intelligent and even more fiercely loyal, and so no-one really minded. Most people took it as part-and-parcel of who he was, really. 

 

 

Still, no-one would have wanted to risk incurring his wrath if they didn't need to. And so, those same people looked the other way whenever they witnessed the strange glints in their DCI's and DI's eyes. Or how they'd excuse themselves at odd moments and suddenly disappear within mere minutes of one another. It wasn't even as though they were consciously aware they did these things, either; it was just how things _were_. 

 

 

But the _real_ truth of the matter was, Gene Hunt was truly terrified of what was about to happen next. And yet also quivering in delicious anticipation. Just another night of the usual, then.

 

 

It was all part of their game, you see. Gene Hunt needed everyone to think he was in charge at all times---which he mostly _was_.

 

 

Except when he wasn't. Which was only and ever with Sam, and it wasn't as though Sam was going to tell...or was he? Gene mostly trusted him, but there was always that delicious frisson of fear of discovery that punctuated every move they made together. Every thrust, every lick, every swirl of tongue over erect nipple and sharp nipping of teeth on same. 

 

 

And the truth was that Sam would never tell, oh no. But he didn't mind letting Gene think there was that possibility---especially when it meant he responded like he did.

 

 

"You won't be needing _that_ ," Sam said, very gently, his lips just brushing Gene's ear as he very pointedly removed the baster from his left hand. 

 

 

Gene's throat tightened. He'd wanted to say something in response, really he had, but suddenly he found himself incapable as all the blood readily left his brain and flooded down, down, into trousers that were suddenly as too-tight as Sam's were on a daily basis. (How _did_ he pull those on in the morning, anyway? He must have to lie down to do the zip, Gene decided, only it wasn't nearly as distracting a thought as he'd have liked it to be.)

 

 

"You won't be needing these, either," Sam got a certain utterly wicked glint in his eye as he began undoing Gene's flies with the help of his tongs. 

 

 

The ridiculousness of this sight finally prompted a verbal response from Gene. "Are you sure you want to use those there? For all I know they're full of turkey juice." 

 

 

"You said you wanted all the trimmings, right? I see a great big turkey in front of me needs stuffing," and with this last, Sam yanked Gene's trousers down and off. His anal-retentiveness about his floors (shoddy though they might be) and the fact he demanded all guests remove their shoes upon entrance to his flat had often served him well on just such occasions as random bouts of magnificent sex in his kitchen. 

 

 

"You aren't _serious_ about that, are you?" Gene looked a bit worried as he eyed up the packets of Bisto on the counter next to Sam.

 

 

"Course not, I did intend us to eat those," Sam scoffed. "That doesn't mean we can't be festive, though. I think you'll find this goes down a treat," he smiled as he took a small tube out of his pocket and began vigorously rubbing it between his palms.

 

 

"Have you got something new?"

 

 

"You'll find out in a moment. But you ask far too many questions. We've got to find a way to shut you up," Sam said as he undid his own flies.

 

 

At this, Gene was a bit apprehensive. This wasn't how it usually worked. True, if anyone had given thought to the question of his aggressive male bonding patterns, they would've expected he'd surely be on top at all times. But that wasn't the problem here---the problem was that all of a sudden, Sam's hugely engorged cock was down his throat and his warm, swollen balls were blocking his nose, causing him to gag as Sam straddled him on the kitchen floor.

 

 

"Bit of multitasking, Guv. They always said I was efficient. I hope you like it; I can tell you _I_ certainly do," Sam's voice called distantly over Gene's eager slurping and laving of Sam's cock. He had no choice, really; it was swallow or suffocate. It was really all kind of hot, and his own cock answered by swelling even further and knocking slightly against Sam's chin as he positioned himself carefully on his now very-prone DCI's form, squeezed out a bit of something from the tube in his pocket, and slowly began working first one slickened finger, then two underneath Gene's warm, quivering balls and into his even warmer anus.

 

 

As always, Gene tensed as Sam worked him open, biting down slightly on Sam's tip as Sam rocked back onto his face, slamming his cock down Gene's throat as he teased the base of Gene's own cock with the tip of his tongue. 

 

 

If Gene hadn't had a mouthful of Sam's cock just then, he'd have said something about how Sam's efficiency was the pride of A division.

 

 

Then again, he wouldn't nearly have been about to burst with need, either. This was all too much. He was at the point where he purposely wanted to do a very bad job at deep-throating Sam, just so that Sam would be frustrated into relieve his aching need that much sooner.

 

 

And Sam would make him pay for that, oh yes. Gene nearly shivered with delight as this very vivid image crossed in front of his eyes as he squeezed them shut. 

 

 

"You'll get no presents this year if you're naughty, Guv. You really ought to watch that," Sam growled, hopping lightly onto the balls of his feet and quickly extricating himself from Gene's mouth and ass all at the same time. "Now it's time to bring you into line," Sam repositioned himself so he was now facing Gene and licked his lips, catlike. 

 

 

"Yes, sir," Gene's voice did that low, husky thing---not at all like Sam's, but just as much of a turn-on.

 

 

"I'll need you on your knees. You aren't nearly as flexible as me," Sam grinned.

 

 

Gene grunted in reply and pulled himself up. He wasn't at all sure his weight would be supported adequately, given how wobbly his knees were just then. But he managed to pull himself into position OK, and indeed Sam mounted up with no trouble at all.

 

 

To say waves of pleasure coursed through both men as Sam slammed his taut, wiry length into Gene would have been a gross understatement. Every time was much like every other time, and yet every time was distinctly something new. They'd long ago found their proper rhythm, and indeed as Sam rode him for all he was worth once again, Gene came so hard he nearly shot himself in the face.

 

 

Not Sam, though. Sam was, as many would have guessed, an expert at self-control. This extended to controlling when he would actually come, and often dragging it out as long as possible, for maximum effect. Past lovers had praised his selfless pursuit of their pleasure, but really, it was all about him. He of course didn't mind them thinking it wasn't, however---what harm did that do?

 

 

Clearly none here. A full ten minutes after Gene had spent himself all over Sam's linoleum, Sam finally let himself course into Gene, wave after wave of Sam's orgasm pounding both of them into sated oblivion.

 

 

After a further ten minutes, by the time both men were quite cold after having lain extremely still on the floor, Sam finally rolled off of Gene and began to pull his apron back on.

 

 

"Are you hungry?"

 

 

"Starved."

 

 

"Good, the turkey's ready."

 

 

"Better make up some gravy, then. And toss me my trousers, I'm bloody freezin!"


End file.
